Book Of Secrets and Wondering
by Hikikomori
Summary: You'll be able to be apart of mine and Bakura's life from now on. Think of this as diary entries. Selfharm, drugs, sex all that fun stuff. Broken souls usually write interesting stories, didn't you know that?
1. Day of Writing: Tuesday, June 2009

This is my diary. Well, Bakura's diary. As you guys probably understand by now I identify myself with him and you could almost say he's my alterego.  
He and I are two, we're together and will always be, in som way.

Feel free to be apart om mine and his life from now on, 'cause this'll become one hell of a mess. I can't promise you regular updates, but atleast this one is a start.

* * *

Day of Writing: Tuesday, June 2009.

Went to the first rock-festival in my entire life a few days ago. It was such a rush and I barely needed any alcohol or cigarettes to hold me up. Not blood or sex for that matter, either.

Not at all like myself, that is.  
Getting high on music, on life itself is nothing unusual but I always needed some other stimulative things to do. Such as carve into my own flesh, but that's an entire different story that stretches years back in time now.

My lust for inflicting pain on myself and to see the blood flow and take all that mental shit with it.... It's a tough addiction and I've come to the point were I don't even bother counting my scars anymore. I'm sure I've got more then a thousand.

Apart from that I've spent a huge part of my life fleeing. Escaping, running away, to go somewhere safe, whatever people call it when you want nothing more then to not be in this reality. It's harsh and the awakening that follows is almost more then some of us can handle.  
I'm one of them "us".

Today I plan to do absolutely nothing. At first I caught myself in thinking positive, wanting to go out for a walk... The sun's shining and I have a mild phobia of getting a tan. Some people think it's pretty. I don't. Not on me at least. So from now on I won't go out in direct sunlight without sunblock on. Paleness is a keeper, damn right it is.  
I can't go around looking like YamiMarik, that damn brat, with his blond hair and tan skin. Looks... weird, but hey he's still one of the few most sexiest guys I know (apart from myself, ofcourse).

Just kidding. I hate myself and my body and I plan to do something about that too. Got to try to do some more exercise. Eat less.  
Yeah, I'm sure I'll be able to do that...  
Just put my mind to it and keep myself distracted.  
Drink a lot of coffe and tons of gallons of a lot of water. Hah. Perfect.

Only problem is to hide my food-issues from my parents.  
My problem is that I eat when it tastes good. And I'm able to eat a lot. Sickens me at times, but still I continue eating like I'm a starved fucking pig or something. Disgusting.  
I have actually gained weight. I have. It's not a pleasant sight, thighs bigger and stomach bulging out a bit. And I'm skinny, but not as skinny as I like myself to be. A flatter stomach and thinner thighs sounds like a fair deal to me. For now.

Enough of that shit now.  
My outside apperance is important to me. Sad, you people might say, but that's just how it is for me. If my hair's on one side then I'm on the other. I can't go out meeting new people without my signature thick, black and clean-looking, Egyptian-inspired eye-liner around my bloodshot eyes. It's awkward to let people see beneatch that. I'm not as hot without make-up, I'd tell you. My dear black circles shows everyone what a torn life I've lived.

These days, when I write isn't as many... as before.  
My goal with all this shit is to try write everyday or atleast when I come to think of something that means... anything, in search for my perfection, and for that antidote that won't make me feel that my soul's decaying.

I'll explore some of my fetishes, I'll dive into my mind and dig up a damn rotten mess, to try to get some order in there.

It's annoying not to know who you are, why you're here and why the fuck you're still alive. Why are we still here, huh? Why?!


	2. Tuesday, June 2009 Part 2

Day of Writing: Tuesday, June 2009  
Part 2 (guess you could say that).

It's late. Either way, soon it's Wednesday.

It's always at night these kind of dark thoughts come up. It bugs the crap out of me to not really know why. I've tried figuring it all out, but what the hell. Why bother when everything's always repeating?

It's all dark and oh so mezmerising. Afraid so. What freaks me out the most is that I'm so caught up in all my fears and alike that I forget what's going on around, outside. I'm so focused in trying to make myself all pretty, beautiful and perfect (or whatever the fuck it is I'm doing) that my family and friends really... can't follow in all the rapid and extreme turns.

But I live 'cause of my friends and music! Yeah, I swear, it's true.  
That's... not the entire truth. Go figure.

I've almost never lived for enyone else. I'm a real ego in that sense that I've always get stuck in what I want, not what the ones close to me might ask for or need me to do, or be. Whatever. I try to change this fact though. I don't feel like being an ass my entire life. That won't get me very far.

Oh. It's Wednesday just now. Don't care. At times I think, what's there to wake up to when all I do all day is... sleep even more because I'm either bored, depressed or just... lazy?

I have things I need to do that I don't do, can't find the motivation.

That's the thing with me. Me sitting on my fucking fat ass, doing nothing because all my insperation's gone away.  
That I'm even writing this shit is a damn miracle.

Speaking of which, I don't know where the fuck my hidden sexual urges have ran to.  
Hidden might be a bit bold, but meh.

I'm into guro. You know, that japanese DRAWN stuff. Yum. Makes me hard almost every time. Blood and intestins is the shit. And the thought (and power-advantage) of fucking a corpse or an animal, that's also something I like to look at and fantasise about. Mind you, not in real life. That's just sick man.  
Either way, to get to the point...  
I'm not as horny anymore. As I used to be. Jerking of almost everyday and Ra who know how many times when something or someone (not as likely, I'm very picky when it comes to either my fuck buddies, one-night-stands or partners) lights my spark.

I always need a vent and sex is great for that.  
Which, brings me to my question why I'm not as "active" as I used to be.  
Have I gotten sick or something?  
What happened to me going insane if I wouldn't be able to "let out some steam"?!  
Damn, this is annoying.

Always so many questions when it comes to me, myself and I.  
But never any real good answers.

Can you understand why I'm frustrated all the time?


	3. Day of Writing: Wednesday, July 2009

I have no idea if it's just hormones or if I actually have a mental disorder. Depression and anxciety in general.  
At times, I wake up, all happy-go-lucky, ready to face another day with all it's different outcomes.  
But then it just... turns around completely and I stare at the walls (wishing they would be covered in blood to match my current mood). I simpy lay there, mind blank or racing, or neither... So confusing to be upbeat at first and then a second after or two, or three this kind of dark cloak covers me and I can't seem to think straight.

What I'm trying to say (I think) is that this shit bothers me. I'm not really bothered by much... But when I am in a good mood in the morning (which is highly unlikely, the sun annoys me), when I actually wake up with a little smile on my face... Wow, I freak myself out so easily. It's usually the same wanting to bury my head in the nearest pillow and never wanting to open my eyes. Because I know I have to face a lot of things... I don't like to face things.

I want to do things that interest me. A hobby, you might call it.  
I hate when it's all so damn boring...  
Boredom is suicide. Seriously.

I always end up eating too much. Among the seven sins I have no problem in filling out all the "marks" in Gluttony.  
Or I go cut, simply because I need to focus on other things then everything being so bored. Or I go get drunk. Which is a favorite pastime of mine. The world is so much easier to look at when you're intoxicated. I feel less, with means I can cut deeper, woho. YamiMarik and my other close friends say this thoughts creeps them out. Go figure. Once he even tried talking me out of it. But that's... a difficult task.

Wishful thinking (to cut even deeper).  
If I had bigger and more serious scars, would people have helped me in the start, to begin with? When it wasn't to late, before I'd sunk deeper into this mess.  
Meh. All this'll get sorted some day.

Went out for a smoke.  
And this fat bumble-bee got in my face.  
Ra damn it! Let me inhale from my beloved cancerstick in peace! Fuck it...

I'm real edgy today.  
Not a good sign.  
When I'm edgy bad shit always happens at night.  
I'll be a good boy and control myself. Try to.

I have too many weaknesses.  
My many addictions for example.  
They wear me down. But that's my personality.  
To get easily hooked. Old habits die hard, that's so damn true.

I don't like to be weak. I remember a point in my life when I prevented myself from crying. I wouldn't let it happen. No matter what. And so, when I finally cried I couldn't stop. The smallest things got blown out of proportion and I ran, to a safe place, locked myself inside soe random bathroom and just rocked back and forth, holding my thighs close to my body and hated every second of it, I hated myself for being weak. Heartbreaking for the people who saw it, but what to do.  
My broken image of being incontrol didn't seem to work there.  
But tears and crying can mean so much. I mean, you can cry because you love someone or just 'cause you're so damn fucking euphoricly happy. Haha. Or when you get the orgasm of your life, and crawl out of bed all spent and limb. That's fun.

To be in control, that's important.  
Yeah, that's what I wanted to say.  
For now.

It's time for another smoke again. Bwah.  
Come say hello to me on my death bed, would ya?

Smoking is quite relaxing though.  
But don't start.  
Take it from someone who's real fucked up by it (and many other fun substances). Like me, you dear ol' 'Kura.


	4. Day Of Writing: Friday, July 2009

Day Of Writing: Friday, July 2009  
Morning, uhm, late, late night?

Either way, it's over midnight and I'm pretty high at the moment.

I asked YamiMarik to pierce my left earlobe.  
I have a 8 mm plug in both my two earlobes, but on my right I manage to squeeze through another 3 mm. Looks real nize.  
And a few hours ago I actually split the tissue in one of my pierced holes on my right one. I love that sound. (Almost to the point of me getting another piercing just to hear it.)

I sat myself down on one of the chairs in our dirty little kitchen and he washed his hands in some intense alcohol smelling shit and his eyes beamed when I showed him the syringe and the piercing jewelry.  
"Let's inflict som pain! You done with that ice?"  
A'right, I admit it (for now), I'm offically a pussy who can't pierce through my own flesh without some kind of numb, cold and/or nearly nonexistant feeling before we do it all and... yeah, you get it.

His hands tremble a bit, but that's just 'cause he's so damn excited, damn sandy-haired shitface. Naah, just kidding, I love that freak.

...He's grabs the syringe, carefully aiming as he does this, and presses it swiftly through my poor red earlobe (numb from the ice, du'h), almost as if he'd done this a thousand times before.  
"Ra, fuck, damn it... You bleed like a fucking pig." We're such gentlemens, especially when it comes to great language skills, I know.

I breath real shallow and as fast as I can to focus on something else (I keep telling you, I'm such a pussy), and as soon as I hear that sound (as if you'd rip your jeans or something made of leather) I know it's over, and I release that breath I've been holding for a short second and giggle hysterically, like a fucking maniac. It's called adrenaline and endorphins and I fucking love it. Fuck yes. Okey, enough with the "fuck"s.  
Either way, it's absolutely amazing how high you can get on the fact that the idea of "Mind Over Matter" actually works.

So, one double-pierced earlobe and another that's got a bit bloody but torn tissue. This is some great shit, definitely.  
I can't wait to see the results.

Now, I'm going to go out for a smoke.  
My last one. Fuck.  
I'll be like a random chick on the rag. Not a pleasant sight or situation when you'd like to be around me, no.  
Nicotine withdrawal fucks up your head, I'm serious.


	5. Saturday, July 2009

You know what?

I'm tired. So fucking tired.

Of myself, of everything and everyone around me. Just a few people... I've made it possible for them to... crawl under my skin or something.

But I'm not sure if they really want to be in there, you get what I mean?  
It's like they fucking dove inside to try to let some sun in, but all the dust made it difficult for 'em to breath so they just gave up.

If you look at my arms (and legs) you can catch a glimpse of a complicated web of scars.  
Bright and radiating crimson, pouring, changing into a durable red that's hard to go unnoticed.  
A rosy pink when it's been healing for six months, or a year or so.  
A shiny silver under certain lights.  
And all white when it's completely healed. This takes years, depending how deep the wound is from the start, and if I can get around any nasty infections. Scars are fascinating, and one of the most beautiful things in life, at least for me.

They've grown to be a big part of me these days.  
I can't even imagine "clean" arms or legs anymore. It's fucking insane.  
When I see old pictures my friends or a random family member have taken I stare at them for a while, trying desperatly to remember the "good old times".  
It's hard.  
I've been through a lot of deep, dark shit during years that just seemed to... fly by. Fucking hilarious really.

You wonder why I mention YamiMarik so much, right?  
It might be hard to grasp, but he's gone through the same kind of "deep, dark shit" as I have, if even... a lot worse. We always sit down and laugh about it sometimes. That feels really good. To be able to have a kind of "detached" look on it.

We even had this "cutting game" where we'd play cards and the loser of each round would have to let the other player cut him.

Oh, that beloved, big fucking pile of various, different razor blades beside our worn down deck... A sight for gods, hah, I'm sure.

YamiMarik would lose, and I grabbed one of his arms, searched for a patch of "non-tainted" skin and draged the blade (only once each time/round though) across, he twitched and examined the wound, slowly filling itself up with blood.  
I lost, he did the same, although every time it would get really deep that I got all dizzy and started, almost studdering. He's got some serious muscle power that guy. He's stronger then me, so if we'd get pissed at each other and wrestle or whatever, he'd always win. That pissed me of even more, and to his big amusment and arousal, I'd fight harder.

Yeah, we were messed up, but found each other in all our broken dreams, goals and achievements. We'd recognise each others darkness and a twisted love would grow from it.  
He's my close, best friend. My big brother and my lover. All at the same time. Handy, isn't he?  
I'm sure I'm all that to him too.

I wonder if I will be remembered.  
And how.  
I asked him once. It ended up with me getting so frustrated, I'd cry (I never shead tears, unless I've really given up on... anything and everything) and he... kissed me.  
Our first real kiss. Not like our usual, animalistic extremely raw ones, this one was just pure love. I got so shocked that the tears came to a halt, immediately.

And that smile of his... I'll never forget it.  
Ra, I love that freak.

And that's just why I hate him with all my being.  
Love's such a bitch. Human emotions are... hurtful.  
It's only when you give yourself to that specific person, that special guy or girl, every fibre and detail and part of yourself... It's only then and there that you can so easily lose everything that mattered to you, that person is all that matters... Nothing else. If you get what I'm trying to say here, damn it.  
Everyday, you will seriously consider commiting suicide, if that person wanted or needed you to. If it would change things for the better.  
It's when you lose everything you'll be able to completely let go.

Haha. Tonights deepest words for sure, that lame shit.

I need... some outlet right now though.  
Cutting, maybe. If I'm lucky I'll be too tired to even do that. THEN I'm tired. Haha.  
Sick stuff, yes indeed.

Or maybe I'll just make a move on YamiMarik (as in: crawl up to him when he's playing one of his favorite Playstation 3 games and sneek my hands under his shirt (drives him crazy every time, it's so fun to see his reactions) and slowly start rubbing over his jeans and watch his breathing getting shallow and that nize "crotch-bump"coming to life, bwahaha) and get me some steaming, hot sex.  
Mmm... Yeah, I might just do that. And at the same time ask him to cut me. Blood and sex is a great mix, seriously. Either way I (and him) will walk away satisfied, for now, on this beautiful, gloomy, dark, rainy, thunder and lightning-filled night....


	6. Sunday 19th, July 2009

Extreme ranting and a blurr of words. You've been warned.

...Fuck all this madness.

You people might wonder why I'm so full of hatred, anger and frustration.  
I can't say that I've got all the right or correct answers.

I'm never going to admit that I'm just another lowlife roaming this planet. You all might look at me someday and find me attractive. But that's just because I give of this different kind of aura.  
Also: You say that I'm unique.  
What the fuck?  
I'm nothing like you but at the same time I'm an exact copy.  
I reflect your deepest, darkest and most vile or chocking desires and needs. I dare to do things that most people wouldn't, at least when it comes to making my voice stand out from that crowd of ordinary boring people with their pointless opinions.  
I'm extreme and I never try to hide the fact that I enjoy it.  
I love to be the center of attention but at the same time, all I really want is to be left alone.

I have a range of different kinds moods, personalities and outer emotions.  
And so I'm confusing to a lot of people. Some of them say that "they don't really know where they have me".  
It's amusing and I play around with the thought of letting my other alter-egos come forth, to take over. I let them do the talking most of the time, it's so much easier that way.  
Don't you think?

I'm real good at blocking things. I go around them and for a while I manage to forget all my problems.  
But then again... I suck a being prepared for when it's all crashing down. And if or when it does, oh boy, then it's so out of control, the shit's fucked up. I can never dream of cathing up.  
Though if I do, I stand there, looking dumb and wondering what the fuck it is I'm going to do.

Then what am I going to do?

The hell... If I knew the answer to that, I would never in a million years be this scarred.  
Both on the inside and outside. There's some parts of me that I've literally cut of and that piece of shead skin is pathetic.

There's not much left of the person I used to be. I don't remember him anymore.  
I've tried to but it's all to "tearing" that I just go "FUCK IT" and do my best to walk away from it.  
But can you really erase big parts of you, yourself and your past?  
Yes. It's possible.

I've succeded, but... I'm not yet finished.  
You better fucking believe it... I'm not.  
So, what now?  
You expect me to just give up and drown in my own blood?  
I plan to.  
But not yet.  
There's still a shitload of things I have to do.  
And IF I drown.... I shall resurrect myself.  
A snap of the fingers and I can start all over again. It's not that hard actually. Just let go. Fucking do it.  
Let go of all your small, pitiful believes.  
Let go, erase all that shit and start over.  
Create new scars, new hideouts in your mind that enables you to shine in a world full of rotten places and disgusting people.  
Be fucking glorious.  
At least, that's what I'M going to try to be.  
You up for it?

* * *

If your lost, then you have to find another way (of doing things), right?  
What if that's a road covered in so much filth that no matter what, no matter how hard you're trying, you'll slip and there's no possible way to survive...?

Bwah. I'm just babblin' away here. People always shout at me for being so stubborn all the time. They say it's both a good and bad wat of getting myself "known and famous" in this world.  
Why is it bad, then?  
When I ask, they blink and refuses to answer me.  
It seems I'm the only one that's not entitled to any answers. What so ever.  
Just because I'm a lost cause... Does that mean I'm not as valuable as the rest of you?

Are you going to stand by the sidelines as demonic creatures devour my insides?  
Sure, I've manage to survive long enough to actually be truthful about the fact that I'm the one who created them.  
Now you might be thinking: "Tough luck. Why won't he "uncreate" them?"  
And I keep telling you, if I had all the fucking answers I wouldn't be where I am today.  
With that said... I wonder...  
How would my life had looked like if I didn't get caught up in this Ra damned selfdestructive mess?

Would I be as outgoing, fearless (kind of) and extraordinary?  
Would I be that special person in your life that you felt you could tell everything and anything?  
Would someone else lay beside you in your bed, comforting you, whispering soothing "soulstitching" words in your ear?  
Would I be that popular guy you really and desperately hoped to get to know a bit better, because doing that would automatically make you as "cool" as me?

There's something for you to think about.  
What and who am I to you?  
A friend, lover or an enemy?  
I'd probably go for any of those options, simply because you'll hate me exactly the same way that you'll love me.  
In short: You'll hate me, just as much as you'll love me.  
I seem to have that affect on people, I've noticed.

Curious, are we?  
I'm just a push of a button away, if you dare to press it.

You want to know if I'm serious, huh?

Hah~  
Right now I have to fucking idea which one of the "others" that's talking.  
Is it really that important to be able to seperate them?  
YES... mostly because I like to be in control. If I can "pick up" a certain personality and use it when needed... You know what this means right?  
It'll be fucking awesome. I'll have the entire world at my feet.  
And NO because it'll make that tiny bit of "the real me" that's left, weaker.  
As it's already decaying bit by bit, every second of every day of...  
Err... Yeah, I think I've gotten my point across.

I'll just try to turn this confusing mess into something else... What that is going to become, be or transform itself into... I don't know. Yet.


	7. Saturday, 1th August 2009

How do you know what's true love?

How do you recognise it, when will you know when to grab your change or just let everything fall flat?

I've struggled with these two, very deep and "wellgrounded" emotions for years now.

My first and only real "true love" is a work of wonders, a beautiful creature with a smile that could melt through the purest of gold. It lasted 10 months, although now, after the traumatic breakup, I realise that our relationship mainly consisted of verbal and mental abuse.  
We were both confused, with ourselves and each other. We were both a "broken couple", but in our darkness we found out our "roles" in that close friendship.  
We loved vigourously, I'd even go so far as to say that we felt dead inside without each others guidance and support.  
We had our ups and downs, like every other couple, mostly downs though.

And then I commited a vile crime, the worst, most unforgivable mistake in my entire life.  
No need to go into any heartbreaking details at the moment, but I cheated, I lied, I decieved and I broke her down in small pieces, more and more for each day that followed.  
And she did exactly that to me too. Not the cheating and lying parts though.  
I feel low, as low as dirt, even more if possible.  
I've come to the conclusion that we weren't compatible as lovers.  
We were ideal as rather close friends. She was the light in our lifes, and I the deepest darkness.  
Looking at it now, I began to think. A lot.

It's tearing me apart, but the realisation of regret and wanting to make amends, wanting to make things right again, to try to sort things out, everything and anything, to shed some light on this terrible soulripping procedure... That makes it a bit more easier to handle.

I've changed a lot, in a way that maked me see things differently.  
I don't seek out destructive relationships; such as one-night-stands or mental or physical abusive scenarious.  
I try to treat people as I myself want to and need to be treated to be able to give proper and passionate love to that person or persons. Be it sexual or not, I want to teach myself to treat people with "good" gestures and make sure that they understand that they're a great asset for me and in my life.  
Because without love, what is friendship, really?

Although, at times, I feel as if everything that concerns love is pointless.  
I mean, my first real give-and-take-love kind of friendship went down the drain. Now, I have a great relationship with this person, and that makes me happy.

So why the hell can't I have that with my one and only, my autentic, true, real love? She was and is a wonderful person and I can with no doubt in my words and voice, say that I feel extremely blessed in having had the time and effort to get to know her as much as I did. And I really hope she feels the same... Even though her pride stands in her way of showing that, maybe someday she'll come forth and let me know how things are, how SHE feels about this whole thing and how she want to move on with everything, be it good or bad, whatever...  
The only thing I want, and need right now, from her, is a straight-forward, throughoutly thoughful answer IF she wants to keep in touch with me, or not.  
For now, that's entirely up to her.  
(Even though I'd wish for nothing else then to meet up with her and have a long and deep chat, to talk about everything that went wrong, or right.)

So, what now? What am I suppose to do? When I've said all those things that I need to do and that I want her to do?  
I'm not sure, I'm still working on not breaking apart everytime I think about not EVER, never seeing her smile, hearing her laugh and feeling, almost touching the radiance of her beautiful soul shining out and from each words uttered from her wellshaped and flawless lips.  
To have her cut out of my life... That's... So heartbreaking I just feel like coming home to her and asking her to kill me with her own hands.  
What a nize way to die... In the arms of someone you love.

Then again, if I die, I won't be able to have the opportunity to live my life, with her alongside me...  
I know very well that that'll take a very long time, possibly years to come true, but I'll never lose hope. I'm sure of that.  
And more then anything I want to, yet again be that faithful rock in the ocean that she can climb onto and feel secure, no matter where she are.  
She's my Ryou, my Ry, my cute RyRy... and will always be.  
And I'll forever be her 'Kura, her 'Kur'Kur, her Bakura, her Sensei... Be so sure.

Wow... Feels good to have that of my chest.  
Either way, I'll continue to fight, for myself, and her.  
I'll never give up.  
Never.

That's one of my flaws, but also my strenght: To never give up on the one or ones I love.

You do that too, damnit!  
Don't you dare to give up on love. That'd be like giving up on life too.  
If you do, you'll hate yourself for it and it'll damage your possibility to have a working, proper relationship of any kind, with anyone and anything.  
I know I say this a lot, and I'm aware that I can be somewhat of a hypocrit, but...  
FIGHT ON!  
Even if it doesn't turn out the way you'd like it to, you can be proud of yourself for hanging on, and that you tried your best, even if all the odds were against you.


	8. Friday, 28th August 2009

I'm becoming so tired.

Already sick of school and what the bastard teachers are making me do each new, following week. I've never liked rules or mandatory assignments. I want to do things my fucking way without people complaining about me being to bold, coarse, unpolite, terrible, shocking or just plain wrong. (Well, to them atleast.)  
It's just the way I am. I don't care what other people thinks, but still, they get under my nerves and irritate the fuck out of me for presenting themselves in such idiotic ways.  
I hate stupid people. I hate them. So badly I'm seriously condisering stabbing all of 'em. But I wouldn't be able to get away with it in a million years, plus, (it's too bad really) I actually have some degree of conciouns left.

A part of me wants nothing more then to strip the entire ME of all those... decisive emotions.  
They mess up so much, it's hilarious.

What marvelous things people would be able to do if they could just shut down the right amount of "unnecessary" feelings and emotions at the exact time they needed to. You get what I'm saying? And do you understand what that would mean?

Then again, a part of me needs those emotions to feel alive. In some way, that helps. Really.

Or does it?

If I could lock them inside and take them out when I need them. If I could study and block out all the negative spirals looping around in my fucking cloudy head.

Ra only knows what I could do then.

Sift through that clotted blood through resistante metal and produce a fine grain that I would feel melting against and into my skin, making me complete, whole yet again.

When these nights arrive... Or come into perspective, whatever the fuck I have to say to make this clear (to all the idiots out there)...  
When I'm in the middle of them, I've never felt safer. But at the same time it's only then, in that position/location that I'm most vulnerable. If someone would arrive at that exact moment when I'm "starting" my mental breakdown, I fucking swear that person would be able to just... kick me in the back, and keep kicking until there was nothing left of me but some... red goo.  
I would probably be too tired to defend myself, or simply, I would have already given up.

I'd rather run mile after mile, after mile each and everyday until my lungs would burst, then continue this inner battle. Rather physical, hardworking labour then to go through this kind of mental struggle.  
Again and again, over and over and over again~

When comes... the point where I've completely given up, then? Fuck, who knows?  
I surely don't. And I guess I really want to find out. Sooner or later, I'd want that date to be set, so I'll be able to prepare myself or something.

What will I do when I know?  
... Fuck it all. If I'm going down, the world'll go down with me.  
Be fucking sure of it. Yeah, go ahead, just scream, SCREAM BITCH, I'm as scared as you are.


	9. Sunday, 6th September 2009

Have I broken down completely yet?

Is all this for nothing? My struggle to collect the torn pieces that should resemble my life.  
Is it pointless to wake up in the morning and follow all this Ra damned fucking routines that in the long run just gives me anxciety for not completing them correctly?

Ugh, I don't know.  
I try to figure all this shit out, before the countdown to my own demise is... well, done.

I save up money to polish my apperance, my looks.  
I take care of myself, and make atempts to look good each day.

Yet I worry that I'm not good enough, that everything will just come to slap me in the face someday.

Should I keep embracing my new role as that guy who's changed, that guy who has friends and/or lovers in millions. He who has that look of radiant confidence in his eyes, that good guy who has people falling for his feet, smiling in pure joy to have the opportunity to know such a wonderful person.  
Or should I go back to being that prick, the bastard, he who's calling himself Mr Asshole. That guy who smirks when he spits at all those idiots out there that won't do as he say, or wants.

Should I continue on, simply just existing, not living, not being completely dead either?

I know you must be so fucking tired with me keeping repeating questions like these.  
Well, tell you what, I'm tired too.

Tired of being me.  
Even though I've never been sure of who that person or creature is.

I guess I'll keep on working on and with this fucked up charade. Of being, becoming and trying to reach that goal of... finding what and who I am.

It's... cruel to let me go through all this by myself. Alone.  
Fuck, I've got all the friends in the world, apperently, but I'm still stuck in this dead end.

I'm blind and deaf yet all these whispering of me being useless is clear, like a loop in a broken rekord, going around, over and over again inside the back of my head, constantly getting itself reminded.  
One second I'm beautiful, sexy, gorgeous, marvelous, amazing and unique.  
But in the second, I'm ugly, fat, disgusting, vile, unappealing and revolting.

The demons in my head are always laughing. Mocking me for my "unapproved" attempts.  
And when, and if I succeed, if I'm lucky they'll shut up. For a while. A few hours maybe. At night it's always worse. It's real bad and my sanity is being tested accordingly.

Balancing school with my private life, is a chaotic task and I fear I won't be able to make it in time.

I hate deadlines and this, I believe, will continue to be my curse. Tormenting shit, really.

I won't survive much longer. My life's not as structured as I thought it would be and the oh, so famous Bakura is loosing his grip, his touch, that thing that made him all so special, that inner quality that made surviving a heck of a lot easier.

It feels as if I don't have much left. At all. Anymore.


	10. Fuck It All

Written; 2009-12-06

Fuck the mere fact that I'm still up, this late, 02.55. (It's sunday, damn it.) The day were I (and everyone else of you, you fucking twats) am suppose to be studying in panic for the upcoming week; sparkling, all new and reinvented shit in the form of activities and grand delusions of change - like, I really wished this shit would be different.

...While I'm still on it, I might as well say:  
Fuck sundays and the nerve wracking deadlines - time's catching up with you. You have to do this, you have to do that. Why...? (Considering that many of us wants an education of some sort, so yes, there's this whole bunch of idiot-labeled assignments they demand for us to finish. Yes, you guessed it, **in time**.)

Fuck **them**: The higher-ups, the people that shout out commands, the damn attorities watching our backs; with those beady little eyes, gleaming with the satisfaction of (for once in their pitiful, meaningless life) getting a few minutes to control other people, but just for a little while.  
The ones who enjoy telling us what to do, those bitches and pigs that, in fact hates their job and want nothing more then to return to their tiny apartments that reak of old tobacco and worn down carpets, because, for example, teaching teenagers lettering, sentences and numbers from government controlled papers is just to much for the to handle.

Fuck mondays and all the fake "Good morning!"'s. It's fucking impossible to be like that... cheerful, no worries; a smile covering your face, plastered on your lips with superglue on a monday morning, for fuck's sake; **it's monday**.

It's the beginning of another week of identical people and situations, nothing you haven't seen before, same ol', same ol'. You might as well stay in bed, you damn prick.

To hell with tuesdays, that day that doesn't really have a meaning whatsover, it's just **there** to fill in the blanks.  
It's that kind of day that almost makes you wish it were monday again, although you know it isn't and so, you shuffle around in the same old clothes again, with the same old company around you (nothing wrong with those people, right? They're just as bored as you are. Maybe even a bit more... panicky, even), the exact time, similiar content being forced into you, once again.

And I could actually smile if someone would do me the favour of erasing wednesdays "of the map". Good riddance. Wednesdays are far to depressing, I always get this intense urge to crawl back under the covers and fucking **stay there**; go into hibernation or something.

And I fucking hate thursdays. They're simply just a reminder of that friday, saturday and sunday's coming up and you only have a set amount of hours to finally relax and enjoy your solitude, to let of some steam; to practice another look on life for a bit.

But, yet again, another week has to come, and that **annoys the** **shit out of me**.

What further annoys me is **people**.  
Those wide, forced smiles, their breathing that tells me the "panic bath" is **still** drowning them from the inside. Hard to breath when you're constantly under water, right? Black tar of depression, haha. Swimming around in your own filth... well, we're probably (very) used to it by now.  
And their believes that one day, something's going to change.  
Maybe.

But you're still going to work yourself to death. That's just how it is, learn to accept this fact and you can play fair and square, and... you might actually score.

Hey, what the fuck do **I** know?

Speaking of that...  
Speaking of me!

Fuck me and my depressive tiny novels; those attempts I do to try to "reach out" to the ones who might feel the same as myself.  
Fuck my problems, the shit everyone's heard before, so many times already, (just shut up, will you?)  
Fuck it; that I feel the need to control what I eat in order to control what's going on in my life. **Who the fuck** am I trying to fool, huh?!

Eventhough my whole life this far seems to be based on my want to be in control all the fucking time... Where has that led me? Into a warm and nize environment or place? No fucking way, I'm more messed up then I were years ago.

And the person I have to blame for all my damn scars is **myself**.  
**Me, myself and I.****  
**  
Why does everything have to be about me when I write?  
Fuck that too.

I'm so tired of **sundays, mondays, PEOPLE, **and not to mention **myself**.  
I'm so fucking tired and it doesn't even surprise me anymore that I'll keep going on **and on** about this **again and again** until I feel so sick of myself that I have to throw up on the floor or something, right here and now.

It's **me**, and it's annoying.  
I'm **me**, and I'm hateful.  
I'm angry.  
I'm furious.  
I'm extremely depressed.  
I'm even suicidal at times.  
I'm haunted by imaginary "personal" ghosts.  
I'm a walking, anorexic living dead corpse.  
I'm (excessively) self absorbed, and highly pessimistic of everything and everyone in my surroundings.  
I'm an asshole that thinks I know it all, I'm a fucking Wikipedia, walking on two legs.

**AND I'M A COMPLETE "RUNDOWN ****(Mister) ASSHOLE****" WITH SERIOUS MENTAL ISSUES AND I FUCKING HATE THE FACT THAT I'M QUITE PROUD OF IT TOO.**


End file.
